The Haust Conflict
by RedMarch
Summary: Combat and conflict eventually tears the team apart, but after almost a year of seperation, and by a twist of coincedence, the teams end up reuniting, but this reunion does not end with a sweet goodbye. A Civil War rages on Earth, and the Titans are keyho


It had ambient ashes of orange. The glowing tip of the cigarette, as Robin spun it between his thumb and index finger. 'How many...', he wondered. Lifting the glowing paper shaft to his mouth for another drag, Robin leaned his head back, staring up at the dark gray-red sky, seamlessly past the endless rows of smoke that wafted into the sky from behind him. "How many...", Robin muttered to himself, leaning his head back down to fell his eyes upon a small cluttered pile of spent shells amongst the dirt infront of him.

He stared blankly at them for a moment, focusing and unfocusing his thoughts of his situation and the steel cylinders themselves. Falling back to awareness, Robin noticed his last cigarette, the last string of smoke lifting from all that was left of the cigs filter, darken itself out. Staring at the cigarette for a moment, he spit it out to his right, onto the corpse of one of his fallen comrades as he leaned forward. With a light grunt, he fell onto his stomach, lifting his Assault Rifle once again and resting it on the shingled, cap-laden trench wall.

"ALRIGHT! 45 D and G6, with a TURNABOUT! Lock and load men, Carson, you cover Sydney!" barked Whills, turning to the dazed Robin. "RICH!"

Robin looked up from the approaching thunder of the tracer-blazon horizon at his Commanding Officer in surprise. "Call the rest of yours and that regiment!" he ordered, gesturing towards the line of clustered anxious troops to Robins left. Robin nodded his head, a stern look washing over his face. Pushing himself up with his rifle, he stood and turned to the small mass of troops, retreating into the recess of the trench. "Hey, HEY! Cover on my 9, stay fast, fire high! This one has to count!" Robin yelled to the turning heads of the uneasy troops as some locked their weapons, others loading, some injecting adrenaline stats into their arms for the last stand.

Robin, checking the StaticTherm sensor on his rifle- noting that it had reached its max- gave his anxiously nervous troop-force a stern look over, and gave a quick nod, running back to a near previous area and jumping down onto the trench wall once again between 2 troops. He peered up over the tapering dirt and rock edge at the large masses of approaching foes; soldiers, droids, and various mechs, as they trodded forward, guns tout. Robin mentally cringed against the thud of the deep churning mechanics of the Saber Suits, as they called them, droning out towards his meek remaining forces over the miscellaneous battle cries of the enemy, some already charging towards him.

"Alright.." he said half to himself, as the two troops nearest him looked at Robin, then back out at the opposing storm. "Alright!" Robin stood up, heaving himself up ontop of the highest most point of the trench wall. "What I said before holds the same! Keep yours locked, and hold firm, retreats result in dishonor, and we're nothing but an aggressor without that!" Robin yelled, bellowing over to the other troops as they crawled up over the trenches and stood firm, training their weapons on the hugely outnumbering force.

He turned to face the mass, glancing over the many contorted and torn, gibbed and bloody remains of his allied wave before him. "For vengeance..." he said, finally yanking back the safety catch of his rifle, "The last true stand! Stay with me and hold the line, faulter and you might has well stay here and die!" Robin barked at the top of his lungs, wielding his AR up upon his shoulder menacingly and jesting towards the nearing mass as it stampeded madly towards his remaining line.

The ground trembled as the endless line of soldiers stood practically railed in place with both fear and rage. "Turnabout... stead, hold!!" Robin lifted his rifle and took aim at a small cluster of MK Troops at the front of the nearing salvo, followed by all of his allies as they half-knelt in a running start position. "Aim!!" A few more almost-inaudible gun tweaks were heard nearby over the now amazing treble of the incoming army as the stern marines said their final prayers and steadied before pausing for that final dreaded word, the ground literally quaking beneath their feet.

"... **FIRE!!**"

The salvo eminated from the huge line of mad-driven soldiers and tore through the flak-laden air, like a heard of murder-lustful bulls over hells battlefield. The shear blast of sound from the countless rifles, firing almost in unison with each other, combined with the atmosphere of combat itself scraped across all minds that witnessed this firing like long nails to a jagged chalkboard. On the approaching enemy's front lines, a chaotic ballet of sparks and blood, robotic parts and limbs, ergonomic harddrive screeches and mind-numbing roars of agony danced about the falling soldiers as the almost-solid wall of pure fired ammo and bullet rounds drilled their way through their foes like miniature footballs to wet tissue paper.

Robin fired mercilessly with his troop line, the sharp pang of spent shells and up-stocking magazine rounds literally echoing from them almost as force of its own. An aurora of crimson red and blue-lined-sparks of flaming orange radiated from the ricocheting steel panels of the falling enemy bards and tearing flesh like a horrific yet beautiful display of violent Christmas lights. As the view of the seemingly endless enemy was blocked with the thick torrent of gunsmoke, Robin was awaken from the semi-trance-like shutter flash of his rifles fire as the last round left the barrel. With a sharp click of his holding catch and a flip of his rear flap pocket, the near-melted and spent magazine fell to the ground amongst the pool of used-metal rounds and fallen allies as he slid up another fresh magazine into the steel column of his Assault Rifles chamber.

"Hold the line!! Corresair, concentrate on the left sect, we've got this half!" Robin barked towards one of his comrades as he yanked back the cocking lever to his rifle, loading the next round with a ferocious tenacity about him. He lifted the AR up to his shoulder and squeezed off a few rounds towards a small cluster of troops already reforming over their fallen, fresh smoke still rising through their newly torn orifices. Just as he turned to the right again, he found himself blasted suddenly with a wall of sharp pain in his right shoulder. Falling to the ground and winded, Robin dropped his weapon and looked around confused as one of his comrades turned to notice him. "Captain!" he yelled in concern, firing towards the now re-gathered opposition with his AR one handed and croutching near him.

Robin looked over at his right arm, now completely numb and crimson stained, as he followed his eyes up to the two fresh glistening holes in his shoulder and arm. "I'm f... fine! Get your weapon and tell the 6th to hold!" he barked modestly, clenching his arm. "But..." Corresair, the only one not too busy firing or being pumped full of enemy fire to notice his/her injured leader, stammered while half-ducking, ignoring the 4 rounds that tore through the head and neck of one of his comrades infront of him. "DON'T WORRY ABOUT ME. GO, NOW!!"

A/N: Well, I hope this is an ok start, even though it may be somewhat confusing in some areas. If you're wondering why this is based solely on Robin, I'm adding each of the other characters "present day" stories like this next, once they're each accounted for, the real story starts. I'll go into more depth why they're fighting and what the importance of Corresair is, who the opposing army is/stands for, all these details etc. I just hope that this was enough to keep you somewhat interested .


End file.
